Do Not Go Gentle
by Nancy Brown
Summary: Set in the last few minutes of Avalon 3.


Do Not Go Gentle  
By Nancy Brown (nancy@tooloud.northco.net)  
Copyright 1995, 2001  
  
  
  
Disney, Buena Vista, all be blessed in their ownership of these  
characters. I need only borrow them for a brief dance upon the  
stage of my imagination, then place them back in their boxes. Some  
lines have been borrowed from the "Avalon" series. I promise to  
return them ere long.  
  
  
  
  
Not for the first time, he felt the years upon him, as though  
he need carry the thousand and one of them on his back in penance  
for his crimes. The last residuals of the great magic he had  
commanded coursed out his fingertips, leaving him too drained to  
even consider moving. The stone slab beneath him was not warm like  
the grass of the endless summer outside, but it was welcome  
nonetheless.  
  
He heard a sound, and focused his eyes upon the witches  
struggling in their chains. His heart trembled. What if they  
escaped now? The spell would not bind them forever, and if they  
broke free, he would never be able to defeat them again. Please  
no, he thought. Let me have this one thing. Let me not have  
failed, just this once. Let the spell have worked and then we will  
be free.  
  
The women finally stopped their motion, resigned to their  
fate. As one, they stared through him, but their magic was chained  
with them and could not harm him now.  
  
The dark-haired one spoke, "You may have caught us."  
  
"But you have not defeated us," said the blonde one.  
  
"We are immortal," said the white-haired one. "We have time  
to wait."  
  
"But you have no more," they said in unison.  
  
"Perhaps," he replied in a whisper.  
  
"Fool," said the blonde. "What hope have you against the  
Archmage when he returns for us?"  
  
"Even now, our allies are taking Oberon's palace."  
  
"All those within are already dead. Including the princess."  
  
From somewhere, he found the strength to move his head and  
seek the truth in their gazes. Could it be? After all this time,  
could he have lost the one thing that had kept him alive? He found  
nothing in their eyes but cold green fire. They were matched  
kites, circling over an old horse dying in a forgotten meadow.  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"Perhaps." They smiled and his hackles rose. He closed his  
eyes against theirs, and his mind drifted.  
  
  
Katharine ...  
  
  
The eternal summer breeze moved her soft chestnut hair into  
her eyes, making her brush it away again. She laughed, and her  
eyes were warm and bright. He heard a child's laughter high and  
sweet from a distance away, but for this brief moment, they were  
alone in the sunlight together.  
  
He wondered how much time passed in the real world as they sat  
on the grass. Could an entire day have really gone by in the  
course of time it took to watch a cloud traverse the sky? What had  
become of those they had known and loved, and did it matter anymore  
now that they were the heirs apparent to the fairy land? She was  
beside him, and all things were possible.  
  
Her eyes touched to his, as if asking a single longed-for  
question. His mind thought of a thousand things to do, to say, and  
having those thousand, he could do nothing. He did not deserve to  
give her such an answer, not after what he had done. He could only  
watch her, until her shoulders fell just a tiny measure and she  
turned her face to let the sun caress her.  
  
He wondered then, and many times afterward, what it might have  
been like to have found an answer to that question, to have met her  
with a word, followed by a kiss, and then everything. In his  
thoughts, he had dared it, had pulled her to him and made love to  
her in that pool of warm light. His dreams had shown him their  
future, the daughter they had conceived between them, and how in  
time she had fallen for the fair-haired Guardian of the eggs, and  
they had all been so very happy.  
  
The sweetest dreams always ended the swiftest, leaving no more  
than half-memories of sunny afternoons and vagrant clouds.  
  
  
The sunlight faded, and was gone from him. It was dark now,  
and something was crackling. One of the eggs! The time had come  
at last. Katharine sent Tom for the cloths they had readied, while  
the two of them sat to opposite sides of the oblong mystery. A  
splinter of shell came loose, and he tugged it free to make room.   
A hole grew, and from it poked a tiny egg tooth, chipping away at  
the edges of its prison. From the outside, they assisted with the  
removal of bits, remaining wary of the infant creature's exertions.  
  
Tom returned with the towels, and together, the three of them  
pulled the last bits of shell away from the fourth. Katharine  
wiped off the remnants of albumin from the child, then wrapped the  
cloth around the small wings and held the bundle close.  
  
"We have a daughter," she said, though to which one of them he  
was not certain. "Hello, little angel. Welcome to Avalon." As if  
holding her own child, she stroked the soft fuzz of hair, the pug  
nose, and she was more beautiful than she had ever been. His eyes  
strayed upwards, and he saw Tom watching her as well, entranced.   
Then the other man's gaze met his own, almost in challenge, and he  
felt his heart freeze as Tom's hand rested against Katharine's  
shoulder while she rocked the babe in her arms, singing a lullaby.  
  
  
"Will you teach me?" piped the little boy beside him, holding  
up his makeshift bow in the afternoon light. He could not help but  
smile. Such a sweet little lad, Tom was always ready to help, to  
learn, to experience what their odd life had to offer.  
  
"Of course." Tom beamed. They found a piece of fallen timber  
to serve as a target, with a giant knot in the center for the  
bulls-eye. Tom set it up carefully between two trees, then ran  
back to him.  
  
Carefully, he placed the bow in the child's hands, guiding  
them as they fitted the arrow to its shaft, feathers outward, and  
pulled back on the string.  
  
"You must concentrate on your goal," he said quietly. "Keep  
the target in your mind. Think of the arrow already lodged in the  
wood, then make it happen." The boy's face screwed up in  
concentration, and he let loose.  
  
The air sang. He heard the thud before he even saw the  
feathers quivering, stopped in their flight, with the head of the  
arrow buried deep in the center of the target. Tom let out a shout  
of joy, running towards the target with all the boundless energy of  
nine years. He could only stand and wonder.  
  
  
He was a small lad, and the Archmage was coming to his town,  
searching for an apprentice. His mother had dressed him in his  
best, scrubbed his face, and made him go out with the other  
children to watch. He'd seen a crooked old man, nothing more.   
Then the man had turned, had looked him in the eye, and he'd grown  
dizzy, as if he'd been pulled beneath water. He'd cried out in  
pain, and the man had smiled, something more frightening than a  
snarl from that face.  
  
"Come with me," he said, and the voice would not allow him to  
do otherwise. He went that same day. The Archmage made him bathe  
and gave him new pupil's robes. His old clothes were burned before  
his bath was complete, and then they were off to court, where there  
was much rejoicing over the birth of the first child to Prince  
Malcolm and Princess Elena. He'd never returned to his home  
village.  
  
  
He heard the call of the horn. Was Tom finally coming home?   
He'd been gone for two weeks from them, over a year in the other  
time. Two nights before, Katharine had told him quietly out of the  
children's earshot that she feared he had been killed, and the  
thought had brought her to tears. He had held her in his arms  
then, offering the only comfort he could to her trembling. After  
a time, she'd stopped, put on a smile for the little ones, and had  
gone back out to tell them a story. He had remained, holding onto  
thin air, breathing in the fading traces of her scent.  
  
He made it to the overlook, and saw that she had gone to the  
beach, was now tenderly embracing the young man. He moved away  
from the cliff before they saw him, and walked slowly back to the  
castle alone.  
  
  
King Kenneth had made his long-promised journey to Castle  
Wyvern at last, and there was to be a celebration. He'd been  
invited as was his due as the court magician, and he'd dressed for  
the occasion in his finest robes. There was wine and music and  
more food than had been seen in some time. The Princess sat beside  
her uncle, laughing with him and his entourage, occasionally  
sparing a glance towards her friends. Then, the musicians started  
a more lively song, and she stood up from her seat to dance with  
several of the young lords.  
  
He watched her in the smoky firelight, her gown brushing aside  
to reveal slim ankles, and his soul flew. There was no other in  
the room, in the world, only one young woman moving to the sounds  
of a lyre.  
  
There had been talk that the King's visit had a reason, that  
he wished to see his niece married soon. Most of the lords around  
her craved her hand as jackals did the spoils of a great feast. He  
tried to picture her bound to one of the oafs, forced to wed  
someone for power and land, but could only see a moth dancing  
closer and closer to a bright flame. What hand could touch those  
soft wings and not bruise them by the mere holding? How far did  
they dare fly before the night ended and they, like the beings that  
guarded the castle, grew cold and lifeless at daybreak?  
  
  
The sun rose over the hills of Avalon, bringing morning and  
the time for sleep. He nodded to his friends and bade them a good  
day, then made his way towards his own chamber. He was tired,  
achingly so. It had been a long night, and he was not growing  
younger.  
  
He lay his head against the pillow, then found himself unable  
to sleep. After a long time, he arose and found a scroll he had  
been reading. He scanned a few lines of the odd script, then  
realized his eyes were too tired to translate properly. He needed  
sleep, but his nerves were alive, keeping him from it. He paced  
for a few minutes, then headed out of his chamber. He'd check to  
see if Katharine was asleep yet. Often, the sound of her voice  
would be enough to calm him when he was on edge like this.  
  
He paused outside her door, ready to knock lightly, when he  
heard the noise. Tom's voice, very low. Had he also been unable  
to sleep? That thought remained for about two seconds, and was  
gone forever as he heard Katharine's voice, which had been gentle  
and soft as she'd told him to sleep well just half an hour past.   
Now it was filled with a timbre he'd never before heard from her,  
speaking things he'd only known her to whisper in his most secret  
and shameful dreams. The awful knowledge shook him, and his legs  
grew weak. He slipped to the cold hard flagstones, unable to move  
away from the door or escape the murmurs of the lovers beyond it.  
  
He buried his face in his hands, wishing for oblivion.  
  
  
The fire in the room crackled as it licked at the fine  
material of the wedding dress. She was ready to die, probably  
*would* end her life rather than marry Constantine. If only they  
didn't have the eggs, the five of them could flee tonight and have  
done with it. They needed time and a safe haven where they could  
raise the young ones in peace. He'd been poring over the Grimorum  
for days, searching for some possible escape, and finding none but  
what he could not do without her consent.  
  
"Constantine will follow me to the ends of the earth," she said, and he  
had his answer.  
  
"Then I'll take you beyond them." There was indeed one place  
they could go, one shore that would grant them rest. They would  
take Finella and Mary and Tom, and they could raise the gargoyles  
together as one family. All they needed was to get the eggs into  
a boat and thus to water.  
  
  
He sat alone by a still pool. It was his own secluded place  
on the island, the secret cove in which he found sanctuary when he  
could no longer face the two other humans of Avalon. He was  
currently reading one of the acquisitions Tom had brought back from  
a journey into the other world, something Katharine had given him  
as a gift, which was all that saved it from being automatically  
despised. He ran his finger over the passage as he read, "But this  
rough magic I here abjure ... " The irony made him grimace.  
  
Prospero had lost his kingdom for his magic, and had given  
that magic up again to leave his island and live in the real world.   
He himself had given up his home *and* his magic for the sake of  
someone who barely even noticed his existence these days. When she  
wasn't with the children, something rare enough any more, she was  
with Tom. He could face losing her to the sacred duty that bound  
the three of them, but not to the boy whom he'd once taught to  
shoot an arrow.  
  
He caught his own reflection in the water: his eyes had  
wrinkles circling them, and his mouth had taken on the form of one  
unused to smiling. How long had it been, he wondered? How many  
years had passed in the outside world, leaving him behind with  
nothing at all? He recalled the wasted years, spent watching from  
a distance two people beloved of him, as they pulled further away  
from his gaze into a world of their own creation. The worst part  
of it all was that he had let them go, had let *her* go, by leaving  
a simple question asked in the sunshine unanswered for just  
slightly too long.  
  
The pool's surface cracked and shattered with the kiss of a  
droplet, fallen from an empty sky.  
  
  
His eyes misted again, and then focused. She was before him,  
touching his hand. In a fragile voice, she whispered, "Magus ...  
What have ye done?"  
  
Something was wrong, different. He'd heard those words in his  
mind too many times over the years, staring at statues that should  
have been stone forever. Her hair had been deep brown then, and  
now it was the grey of a storm cloud, yet her eyes were still green  
as spring grass. Behind her stood one of those he'd cursed, and  
who even now offered his gratitude for watching over the little  
ones. Forever had come a bit sooner than planned, but he didn't  
mind this once.  
  
So many things he needed to do, to say, but again he could do  
nothing, merely turn her words away when she thought to take him to  
the palace. This was where he needed to be. If he went back  
there, even if he did live, he had died already long ago by not  
raging against the dying light of the love they might have shared.   
Here, he still had a semblance of his former magic, and that might  
be just enough to cast a final spell or two before ...  
  
He closed his eyes.  
  
"You canna leave me!" she said, and was that what she had really  
asked him there in the sunlight? To be with her always? Would  
that be enough for him? For a thousand years, it had been. No  
matter the time spent, no matter what it had cost him, he had been  
by her side, and it *had been enough*. How could he even imagine  
leaving her now?  
  
"Never," he breathed, letting the last of his borrowed magic  
go free with the word.  
  
  
The eternal summer breeze moved her soft chestnut hair into  
her eyes, making her brush it away again. She laughed, and her  
eyes were warm and bright. Those eyes touched on his, as if asking  
a single longed-for question. His mind thought of a thousand  
things to do, to say, and having those thousand, he could find only  
one. His lips met hers halfway as he sighed, "My princess ... "  
  
The End  



End file.
